Foaly and the Memory Disc
by Lessa3
Summary: Foaly finally wrestles two week's leave from Root and settles back to view the disc with Artemis's memories up until the mindwipe, and may get more than he bargained for...
1. Prologue

ASN (Author's sister, otherwise known as Ryn's, note): Well guys, it's been a while hasn't it?

AN: It's not that we've not been writing anything...

ASN: It's just that we haven't _finished_ anything.

AN: However, we decided to put this up. This is actually a story we wrote for Criminality's (an AF fanfic archive) March-April Challenge. The challenge was to write a fic about the contents of the disc Foaly saved when he mindwiped Artemis. We won, by the way.

ASN: Modest. But in the interests of keeping it a short story (hahaha) we cut some of it for Criminality's challenge.

AN: So here we are posting the full, UNCUT version of Foaly and the Memory Disc.

ASN: Enjoy! Oh, just in case you didn't know, Artemis and Co does not belong to us. We only imitate and extrapolate.

* * *

Foaly positively danced out of the Operations Booth—a tough feat for a centaur, but he managed it. Absolutely nothing in the world could get him to calm down. He only stopped dancing when he almost ran over Holly.

"What are you so happy about?" she asked curiously. "It has to be good to pull you away from your computers."

"It's wonderful!" he sang out. "I'm free! Free of all my worries, all my cares, all my _employers_—" He shot a mock-glare in the general direction of Root's office. "—free at last! For two glorious weeks!"

"I'm glad for you." Holly told him as she fell into step next to him. "Now that we've determined why you're so happy, tell me—what do you mean by 'free', exactly?"

"It's my vacation time. I haven't had a vacation for over a century, you know. And all Root would give me was two weeks. Two weeks! Can you believe that? And after all I've done for the LEP."

"At least you get a vacation." Holly grumped. "I have double shift tonight."

"I'm sorry." Foaly said sympathetically. "Tell you what; I'll have an absolutely wonderful time tonight for the both of us, all right?"

The look Holly gave him was quite an adequate answer.

"_Sorry_."

After a few moments of silence, Holly spoke again. "What are you planning to do during your wonderful vacation, anyway?"

Foaly shrugged. "Well, sleep is number one on my agenda. Other than that, I really don't have anything exciting planned. I might throw my weight around and force my way onto a shuttle for a day above ground…but that's a lot of work. I'll probably just sleep."

Holly couldn't help but roll her eyes. "I can hardly stand the anticipation."

"Hey!" the centaur protested. "I can't help the fact I have four feet and stand out in any crowd. Give me a break, all right?"

"Fine, fine." Holly said, holding up her hands. "Have a good time sleeping, all right? Don't get too bored."

"Don't worry about me, Holly." Foaly said confidently. "I plan to enjoy myself immensely."

* * *

Exactly one week later, Foaly was ready to go back to work. And stay there. Preferably for the next century. He now knew why Root was so stingy with vacation time. After a week of nothing to do, Foaly was starting to go a little stir-crazy.

The centaur had already read all his computer manuals and every magazine in the apartment. He'd memorized the television schedule, cleaned the apartment three times, slept through Thursday, and called Holly so much she had volunteered for extra duty at the station. He hadn't expected it to happen, but Foaly was _bored_.

He went to his computer and turned it on, marveling at how long he had managed without it. There, after reading though his entire collection of favorite articles on computer technology (most of which he'd written himself), he read through all his _least_ favorite articles and wrote nasty comments.

In desperation, he pulled up a game of FreeCell and played obsessively for three hours.

"All right!" he exclaimed after losing the same game for the fifth time. "That's enough. I _need_ something else to do."

After a moment, Foaly went to one of the drawers in his desk and opened it. It was filled to the brim with CD-Rs, floppy disks, and other, flashier ways of storing files. He pulled one out at random and read the label.

"_A Theory of Human Mind Processes and Reactions. _It can't be that bad."

It was. And almost all the other disks in the drawer were just as boring.

* * *

Foaly had gone through the entire drawer, and even reread the ones by a Dr. F. Roy Dean Schlippe. That man sounded like he understood what he was talking about a little better than the others. But after all the drawer of human psychology, FreeCell, and even some Solitaire…Foaly still had an entire day of vacation left.

"Enough is enough!" He announced to the empty apartment suddenly. "I'm going back to work. I can't take anymore."

But after thinking it through, he decided to stick it out. After all, Foaly had gone through a lot of complaining to get these two weeks. Root would be _so_ pleased if he showed up back at work early.

"I can't give up now." Foaly muttered to himself. "I wanted a vacation for two weeks, and I'll vacation for two weeks if it _kills_ me!"

He slammed his fist down on the desk for emphasis, and the human psychology drawer rattled. He frowned.

"I thought I had emptied that."

Foaly opened the drawer and glanced inside. A file disk had been pushed up against the back of the drawer, as far as he could tell, and had been rattled loose by his fist. And this was an interesting disk. It had a one word label—

_Fowl._

Foaly knew what it was immediately. It was the copy of the memories he had taken from Artemis Fowl Jr. after the Spiro mess, before the mindwipe. He'd kept meaning to glance it over…

So he'd do it now.

The centaur trotted over to his computer and slid the disk into the drive. The computer whirred for a moment, and Foaly pulled up the document quickly. The adrenaline was starting to pump. Finally, he had something to do that wasn't deadly boring.

The document finished loading. Foaly leaned forward.


	2. The Early Years

AN: This is a set of scenes from Artemis's memories, not a real 'story' with a set plot. The breaks mean a jump in time.

ASN: And again, they are not ours....

AN: whimper

* * *

Light.

Voices.

A tall man hovering over me. He's a little scary, but I know he won't hurt me. He's always been around me, like a shadow, and he's never tried to hurt me.

Butler, he's called. I wonder why.

And then there's her…the lady. She's also tall, very thin, with brown hair, pale skin, and a smile that's too bright. She calls herself Mother.

The other man—Father, they say—is hard to describe. I suppose the only word is overpowering. I do not see him very often, but every time I do, he is closely followed by another large man who resembles Butler.

As odd as they sound…this is my family.

* * *

I stand up and began to walk. Mother notices me after a moment and squeals, dropping her book. "Artemis! You're walking! This—this is wonderful! Butler, come see!" Butler, who was just outside, comes in and nods slightly, seemingly uncaring. I think he is pleased, however.

Mother yells for Father, but he does not show. After a few minutes, I leave to find him. He is talking to the major—Butler's uncle. I stand at the door on my unsteady legs and listen closely.

"Gold is power in these times. _Aurum Est Potestas_. Whether legal or illegal, any way you can get gold is a good way. It doesn't change." Butler's uncle nods, then notices me.

"Mister Fowl?" he says, and points at me. Father turns.

"Artemis?" His voice is shocked. "How did you get up here?"

I don't answer his question, because I can't talk that well yet. I should have more practice, but I don't like talking anyway. It just seems silly, talking if you don't need to.

Mother comes in behind me, and sweeps me into her arms. I struggle briefly, but settle down as she begins chattering to Father about my walking. He doesn't seem impressed.

"I see." he says calmly. "That explains how he made his way up here alone."

With that, he turns back to the major. Mother stands for a moment, then she takes me and walks out. I think we've been dismissed.

I wonder why he is so uninterested in me.

* * *

Father and Mother are sitting together on the couch and I am at their feet looking up at them. Mother is talking, but Father is ignoring her. He does that a lot. Now he is reading a book. Intrigued, I look closer at the book and sound out the title.

"_Financial…Powers in the…Modern World_."

Father looks over the top of his book. Mother looks down at me and her eyes are wide. "What did you say, Arty?"

I point at the book. "I wanted to see what Father was reading." I say carefully.

Even Father looks surprised. I don't know why. Reading is fairly easy; I've been doing it for a while.

"Oh, Timmy!" Mother gushes. "I can't believe it! He's only four years old! And to know words like financial!" She leans in closer to Father, but I can still hear her. "I think we might have a genius on our hands."

Father only nods and returns to his book.

I get up after a minute and go upstairs to my room. Mother and Father were surprised, if just for a moment. I don't understand why. The young should learn and grow; it's the only way they will ever be taken seriously. Even so, they always underestimate me.

Perhaps that will come in handy later on.

* * *

Ever though Mother knows I can read quite well on my own, she stills insists on reading me a bedtime story. I let her—all my protests would only encourage her. Father has shown me that.

Tonight it is a story of leprechauns, rainbows, and magic…and this story actually holds my attention. Magic…and gold. Imagine, gold at the end of a rainbow. It was a rather poorly written story, and slow moving, but it has brought up a great many ideas.

The rain pounds on the roof.

* * *

I go to the stairs as quietly as possible. The rain has stopped, and dawn has arrived. There is a faint rainbow outside. It's very early and no one else is awake, but I know that if I wait, the rainbow will be gone. So, I'm sneaking out.

I'm working on the security code…it's fairly complicated, but if I want to leave the house alone, I need to turn the system off. 8…5…3…2…7…9…2—that's correct. The numbers are worn, and it was only a matter of putting them in the right order.

Besides, I've watched Father do it.

The alarm is off, and I can leave without awaking anyone. I slip out the door.

The air is cold, but I brought a jacket. I see the rainbow; it seems to be very close. I should be able to reach other end quickly, before anyone at the house awakes.

But I run and run and run, and the rainbow doesn't get any closer. It must be an illusion—I have to be getting closer. I'm becoming tired. I'm not athletic; I prefer books or the computer.

As the rainbow starts to fade and dissolve, I slow, then stop. I hadn't made it. The gold eludes me.

I hear someone behind me; the noise is too faint to be anyone but Butler. I wonder how he knew I was here. Then, he almost always seems to know exactly where I am and what I'm doing.

"Artemis," he says as he approaches, "You should not have come out here alone. Your parents are worried."

"I know. I'm done." I tell him calmly as I turn around and begin to return to the house. We walk back in silence. I should probably be concerned about what my parents will say, but for some reason, I am not.

Mother comes running out the door. Father follows at a slower pace, looking displeased. "Arty, where have you been?" she cries. Before I can respond, she sweeps me into a tight hug. "We were so worried!"

"I am fine, Mother." I tell her, subtly trying to escape from the crushing embrace. Why does she always hold me so tight?

"How did you get outside?" she asks, letting me go. "The security alarm should have sounded. Did we not set it?" The last question is directed to Butler.

"I turned it off." I say matter-of-factly before he can speak.

Father, Mother and Butler all stare. "You turned it off?" Father repeats.

"I did. It took me almost five minutes." I say calmly.

Mother and Father study each other for a moment, and I know I've shocked them. They underestimated me again. Finally, Mother takes my hand and leads me inside, saying, "Why did you leave, Arty?"

"I was searching for the end of the rainbow."

Her face lights up and she whispers to Father, "Chasing rainbows. It's from the story I read him last night."

Father frowns. "That's a childish thing to do, Artemis." he tells me firmly, ignoring the look on Mother's face. She touches his arm, bringing his attention back to her.

"But he _is_ a child, Timmy! He's barely six!" Mother tells him.

"He may be a child, but he is obviously bright. Breaking the security code so he can chase rainbows is not what I believe is good for him. There's no logical reason behind it."

I just stand and listen with Butler silently behind me.

"Can't he be a boy for one day?" Mother asks Father. He doesn't answer. She turns back to me. "Were you looking for the gold?"

"Yes, Mother."

"To find a leprechaun?" she asks, darting a triumphant glance at Father.

"No, Mother." I answer. "I just wanted the gold."

Mother stops, and has a shocked look on her face; on the other hand, Father looks fairly satisfied.

"A logical reason. That's my boy." he says loudly, and he pats my shoulder as he walks up to his study.

This is the first time Father has ever been pleased by what I do.

* * *

Butler is lecturing me about leaving without him earlier. Most people would think he was as calm as always, but I know better. He is angry—I see it in his eyes. But I do not know whether he is angry with me…or himself.

"I am here to protect you, Master Fowl. I cannot do that if you are not here. Do not leave here without telling me where you are going again."

I start. Is Butler giving me an order? He's never done that before. "Are you ordering me?"

He looks at me. "Yes, I am. I will never give you an order I do not think is important. But when I do give you an order, I will expect you to take it seriously."

I nod. This is obviously important to him. "I will not leave here without telling you."

"Good." Butler states. After a moment of silence, he starts to leave. As he does, he says, "I was worried about you, Master Fowl."

I stay sitting in front of my computer. I knew Mother would worry—but Butler? I had expected him to be professional; to not let his feelings get in the way.

Odd.

* * *

I do not think I am ever going to enjoy school.   
The day starts out simply: get everyone's name, pass out books, and go over basic rules. For an average child, this would be a strain. For me, it is monotonous. After sitting through an hour of learning my classmates' favorite foods and television shows, I am quite ready to return home to my computer and never come again.

Instead of covering any sort of relevant material, we have a 'naptime'. I read the entire literature book and find almost twenty different discrepancies in the science textbook. Certainly the people who wrote these did not think 6 year olds are so dense to not realize light is considered energy. This first grade material is covering things I have known and used for years.

The other children here still believe the sun goes away during the night, and I am fully convinced my vocabulary is larger than my teacher's. I know, after only one day, that this time will be purely wasted, and that it will contribute nothing to my life.

If this is how school is always going to be, I honestly do not know what I will do.

* * *

I sit at my computer. I have been in school for a few weeks now, and Father just received an email from the principal. I know that is not a common occurrence for children my age. I do not know what it is about…but I wish to find out. I am _going_ to find out.

I access Father's email account, but it asks for a password before it will let me into his inbox. A frown creases my forehead. This is similar to the security system, but harder. There are no worn numbers to place in the correct order here.

I can do it.

Concentrate...

Frustration.

Success!

It takes an hour, but I am in finally. The word, FowlManor, is a fairly simple one, and easy to recognize, if you know my father. I am not sure if I should inform Father that his email is easy to hack into or not. If I can do it with my limited technological ability, I'm certain Interpol can as well. However, he could become angry with me. This is my first crime.

Out of many?

Perhaps.

The principal was complaining about the offhand and cold behavior I display during class. He says my parents should be more careful when it comes to my 'attitude.'

Nothing really different there.

* * *

"Hey, Fowl!"

I know that voice. It is the scourge of the third grade, a bully and fool named Ardal Daly. I keep walking.

"Fowl!"

I am in no mood to deal with him today—or anyone, for that matter. I know a way to deal with the time I spend in school; I use it to plan my future crimes. Tonight, I am going to try and hack into Interpol's files again. I've been attempting to for some time, but their security keeps getting in my way. It's important that I have time to concentrate.

"Fowl! Are you deaf? Or just dumb?"

A fairly subtle insult, designed to attack one's sense of self-worth. Perhaps Daly isn't so stupid after all.

He appears in front of me, looking angry. "You ignorin' me, Fowl?"

Or perhaps he is.

"I was." I tell him calmly.

His face reddens. "Oh, really?" It's almost pitiful. He tries so hard to be tough and intimidating, and he fails so miserably. After all, he is only in third grade, yet he's already close to bursting a blood vessel. Being a bully obviously isn't healthy. I tell him so.

"Do you have a problem with me, Fowl? Is that what you're trying to say?"

As pitiful as this is, I have no time for it. I try to walk past him, but he steps into my way.

"Scared of me?" he taunts.

"Only of your dazzling stupidity." I snap, all patience gone. "You will excuse me; I have a multitude of things to accomplish and listening to your posturing is not one of them."

I begin to walk past him again, but he gets in my way again. My eyes narrow. I know I am not large and muscular, but most of these bullies have learned by now not to annoy me. Why is Daly so insistent?

"Just because you're smart, you think you're better than us, don't ya, Fowl?" he growls, slamming a fist into his palm.

_That's_ what this is all about??

"You are mistaken—" I begin, but he interrupts.

"You getting all high and mighty again?"

This has degenerated far enough, and I know it. If I know it, then I'm certain others know it as well. A crowd is starting to gather.

"Well?" Daly demands. "You think you're better than the rest of us?"

"No, I am not a better person." I respond. "I am just more intelligent, which you yourself admitted to, and that means I am a better student. Thusly, being a better student means I will be more successful in life. In conclusion, I am a more successful person, yes, but better? No. Excuse me."

Daly and the rest of the crowd stand dumbly as I finally start to get away. I make it an entire two steps past him before he yells again.

"Don't turn your back on me, Fowl!"   
I sigh and turn back around. Daly has a fist pulled back.

A wave of shock. Someone is daring to threaten _me_?!

Daly manages to move his fist an entire inch before it stops—apparently without his permission, judging by the stupefied look on his face. Butler is holding his arm firmly. He looks to me.

"Artemis…"

"I am fine. Thank you, Butler." I say, finally able to leave the scene. I can almost hear Daly quivering in his shoes as Butler coolly explains to him what a stupid move that just was. He came through for me once again.

I know he will never leave me alone in such a situation. Or at all, for that matter.

* * *

The doorbell rings, and I hear loud, ear-piercing squeals from the foyer. I am mildly concerned as to whether someone was _really_ strangling a parrot in the front hall, so I go down the stairs.

A blond girl of about 12 is racing around downstairs. She hugs Butler and the major hard and then begins to run again. She babbles the entire way.

Juliet's back from her second training period with Madame Ko.   
"Ahh! It's so great to see you! I've missed you so much! I've been gone for over six months, and you _never _wrote! Ever! What have you been doing that would make you forget to write?"

"I've been working, Juliet." Butler says. He has a look on his face I have never seen before. It's very soft, a sort of amused tolerance. "And you shouldn't be lecturing us. You hardly wrote at all anyway."

Juliet stops bouncing and smiles sheepishly. "Yeah, well…it's principle." She grins. "Speaking of which, where's Artemis?"

"Here." I say calmly as I step out from the shadows. She jumps, and then she spins to face me. I notice she's fallen into a general fighting stance used for defense. She realizes it's me and grins.

"Don't do that! You scared me!" she complains.

"Greetings once again." I say, gingerly shaking her hand. I know that is what Butler expects me to do, and she knows that is all the physical contact I allow.

She grew a lot while she was gone in Japan. I have to look up to see her face now, and I find that annoying. I do not like being smaller than those around me.

Mother comes in before we can say anything else.

"Juliet! It's been such a long time, how have you been?" Immediately Mother latches into her arm and drags her to the kitchen, nattering the entire way. Something about not writing. I smirk.

Butler touches my arm slightly as he walks by. "Artemis…you know Juliet has always been a little high-strung, but she has reached the age where she could become...annoying. If she bothers you…"

"Butler." I say. "Do not worry. I am certain she will be fine." Odd. That wasn't what I was planning to say. I was going to say something along the lines of 'as long as she doesn't annoy _me_, everything will work out.' I blink.

Butler looks surprised—and pleased. "I'm glad you feel that way."

I nod once to acknowledge his words and continue to my room. I have been working on a copy of the Mona Lisa. It is turning out to be an impressive likeness. I wonder if I can sell it to some unsuspecting fool. We shall see.


	3. And so the crimes begin

ASN: We do not in any way, shape, or form, claim to be Eoin Colfer. Artemis is not ours.

* * *

It is a pretty day; I can hear Juliet outside singing as she works in the garden. I do not recognize the tune, but I do not often recognize anything Juliet is involved in. She says it is because I am still a 'child'; however, I believe it is because the things she gets involved in are too bizarre for my tastes.

Mother walks in my room suddenly, interrupting my work. "You should go out, get some fresh air." she says without any preamble. "I know you've been ill, but it would do you some good."

I continue calmly typing. It is an essay I believe I might send in to one of the psychology journals—should I ever get it finished. Mother has been hovering over me too much lately.

"You're so pale!" she exclaims. "That is just not healthy."

I always look like this, Mother, even when I'm _not_ ill. "Perhaps tomorrow, Mother. It is a little chilly today." It's almost 70 degrees.

After fuming for a moment, she relents. "All right, tomorrow." she says, and walks out.

I do not laugh until after she is gone.

Mother disapproves of Father's criminal enterprises, so she ignores them, focusing her attention on me. I love her deeply, but she continues treating me like a child. The very idea of me going outside to 'play' is ludicrous.

So I stay inside today, as I prefer, working on a new crime idea. A minor bank in the US reboots its computers at midnight every second Thursday of the month. I believe that I can hack into the system beforehand. Then, after it is rebooted, while it is loading its programs, I will slip in a program of my own. This program will remove a small amount of money from multiple accounts. I will have thirty seconds to load the program, cover my trail, and exit with a profit of a few thousand dollars. A clichéd notion, true, but most banks never see it coming.

It takes me a long while to hack into the system, longer than I anticipated. I still have plenty of time before having to load the program, but I underestimated the bank's security. Disturbing.

The door opens. A slight wave of panic hits me. I cannot minimize the bank program without losing the link, and I do not have enough time to hack into the system again. I casually turn in my high-backed chair and use it to block the screen.

It is Butler.

Relief.

Butler might not agree with criminal acts or agree with all of Father's acts, but he would not panic and call the police. Or my parents.

"Artemis…why are you still awake?" he asks. "It's late, and your mother is concerned since you are still sick."

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. I may have a slight fever, but I'm not an invalid.

"I am perfectly fine, Butler. I will not suddenly die from the shock of missing my curfew, I assure you."

Butler's eyes flicker. I was uncommonly harsh in my reply, and I can tell that he is becoming suspicious.

"Artemis, what is wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong. I am…simply occupied with something else." I say, trying to fight down my rising panic. He might not reply my acts to my parents to the police, but what _would_ he do?

"What is it that you are occupied with?" Butler says, moving closer and shutting the door behind him.

I am trapped.

He is too aware of my discomfort to give up the subject. I must tell him—I have no choice.

I unsuccessfully try to hold back a sigh and move away from the computer screen. "I was working on breaking into the security system of an American bank. Do you have any suggestions?"

_That_ makes Butler raise an eyebrow in surprise. He frowns and moves to the screen, inspecting my work.

"You've hacked into the system already?"

"Yes," I say nonchalantly, as if this is perfectly normal behavior for a ten-year-old.

My palms are sweating. Why am I so nervous?

Silence reigns as he stares at the screen. He does not look pleased. My stomach turns.

I realize something.

I wish to impress my father. I want to show him that I am worthwhile, that I am his son. I do this by following in his footsteps, trying to be as clever as he is at anything and everything. But I do not try to impress Butler.

I try not to disappoint him.

And this…seems to disappoint him.

Just as the silence gets to the point where I can feel my tired body wanting to give out from the effort of waiting, Butler turns around and catches my attention.

"Most banks nowadays have trapdoors to catch any hackers. You need to avoid taking the easy way in here," he said, pointing at a line of binary, "And enter in here instead."

There is another pause, and then he looks at me squarely.

"Your father would be pleased."

He understands.

And while he is not bestowing me with his blessing, he is giving me his consent to continue.

I nod blandly, all emotions tucked away. "Thank you Butler, I would not have thought of that. However, I do know of a way to escape from the trapdoor."

"You do?" Butler asks, standing calmly at my side as I slide into my chair. "How so?"

I tell him, and our partnership begins.

* * *

There is a large market for people wishing to buy famous monuments. Many rich and foolish snobs wish to buy The Statue of Liberty and have it placed in their backyard—many more than I supposed.

In other words, there are many people in the world who are just waiting for me to fool them.

Butler and I discuss the situation for a week or so, and we decide on an heiress from India who wants the Eiffel Tower. Why does she want it? I'm not sure, and I don't really care. All I care about is the amount of money she's willing to pay for it.

We send secured instant messages to one another to discuss the transaction. It would be more normal for me to meet the heiress somewhere, but I know she would walk out once she saw me. How many adults take a 10 year old seriously, genius or not? Over the Internet, I can easily hide my age.

"How did you get hold of the Eiffel Tower, anyway?" she asks. I glance at Butler, smirking as I draft a reply.

"The government owed me for a…favor, and gave me rights to the Tower. They assumed I would never find anything to do with it."

"Impressive." she responds. "How do I know you aren't lying?"

I send her a zipped file, in which is a photograph of the deed to the Eiffel Tower—a false duplicate with my alias on it, copied from the original deed that I pulled out of the French government files on an extremely boring field trip when I was younger. It is really quite shortsighted to assume that just because an object was once locked up and secure that it remains locked up years later. As far as I knew, the French government had simply never checked to see if the deed was still in their files. That would undoubtedly change when the heiress arrived to claim 'her' tower. _If_ she was taken in by the deception.

After a few minutes, she writes again. "This looks acceptable. How much would you like?"

"Nothing less than 65 million in US currency."

The response was immediate. "_What_?!"

"The original cost of the Eiffel Tower was 7,799, 401.31 francs." I type calmly. "That is converted into about 2,713,518.7297095 Euros, which is about 3,333,286 US dollars. If you take in the rate of inflation, that makes it about 69,270,621.28, roughly. If anything, 65 million is giving you a discount."

She sends nothing for several minutes, and Butler glances at me. "Do you think she is changing her mind?"   
"No, she is trying to decide how much she can safely offer me without me losing interest." I tell him. "Do not worry."

Sure enough, a moment later, she responds. "As logical as that is, it's still a little too high. It cost that much to construct the Tower, but it's old. Rusty. In need of repair. How about…30 million?"

I smirk. A good response. "But the Tower is full of history, and that in itself would raise the value. 55 million."

Another pause. "40 million."

"Miss…"

"45 million."

I let her stew for a moment, then respond. "Agreed. But I want the transaction to place before I send you any documents. And I will not have anything to do with transport; that is all your business."

"All right. You should get your money within two to three hours."

"Until then."

She signs off, and I look at Butler, smiling. Yes, I am smiling. It's not obvious, but my smirk is definitely wider and more pleased than it usually seems. Butler seems as stoic as ever, but his eyes are sparkling. He enjoyed this as well.

We wait for a few hours, not speaking much. When the time comes, I log into my Swiss bank account.

It more than doubled in size.

The smile grows and I turn to Butler triumphantly. "Success, Butler. She fell for it, and transmitted the money, as promised."

He almost smiles. "And what do you plan to do with it?"

"More complex and expensive schemes, Butler. I have a great many plots…most of them illegal."

"Only most?"

I turn back to the computer and stare at the numbers proudly. "Now, Butler, I do invent things as well. But yes, the legal ideas are few and far-between. This is more rewarding in the long run."

Besides, this enterprise was most exhilarating. I believe the word I'm searching for is…fun.

* * *

I am in chemistry class—working on a new plan. For a while I was planning on another monument scheme, but the French government was in such an uproar over the Eiffel Tower I've decided to abandon that line of crime for now. Perhaps when I am older.

The door to the classroom opens, and Mr. Price, the vice-principal, steps in. He is a skinny, ugly, annoying little man. Always posturing and trying to show how much he knows about children. It doesn't take too much to run circles around his amazing insights.

He goes to the teacher and whispers in his ear. Little to my surprise, the teacher looks up at me. Mr. Price probably wants to have another discussion about my 'future.'

What surprises me is the look in my teacher's eyes. It seems to be…pity.

No one has ever pitied me before.

"Artemis," my teacher says, his voice quiet, "Please go with Mr. Price."

As we walk out, Butler's pager rings. He glances at it while he follows Mr. Price and me out the door. The vice-principal says something, and I glance back at him.

"Artemis," He sounds nervous, "How long have you been attending this school?"

"Too long." I answer absently. This is becoming odd. Mr. Price gives a shaky laugh.

"That's…amusing, Artemis. Now, you've been here for a long time, and you've known me for a long time, correct?"

"Yes," I answer, then add, "Sir."

"And you know that I will support you no matter what happens."

Danger.

This _cannot_ be a good sign. My eyes snap to Mr. Price, trying to puzzle out the meaning behind his words, but he has his attention focused on the hallway behind us. I turn.

Confusion. Fear.

Butler is calmly standing a few yards behind us, but something is wrong. I can tell.

I can always tell.

His knuckles are white around his pager, and his eyes are cold…colder than I have ever seen them. He is upset, but I don't know what about. I go to him.

"Butler?"

He looks at me, and for a moment, I think I see a bit of moisture in his eyes. But then it's gone.

"Artemis. Follow Mr. Price."

An order. Something is very wrong. My stomach leaps.

We arrive at the office. There are the usual teachers and aides standing around looking bored…and Juliet.

She shouldn't be here at all. She should be off with Madame Ko in her training. In fact, she left for her six month session only a few weeks ago.

Her hair is not combed, and she isn't wearing any makeup. My hands began to sweat, and my heart pounds. She has been crying.

"Artemis…Butler…" she begins, and then she stops and swallows. Tears start to fall down her cheeks again as she speaks. Even in her grief, she tries to be nice to me.

"Sit down Artemis." she says. "You should be—"

"Juliet." I interrupt. I try to sound annoyed, but there is an undercurrent of fear in my words. Perhaps no one else can sense it, but I know it's there. "Tell me what has happened."

She begins to sob, and Butler goes to her then, hugging her as he looks at me. "Artemis, one of your father's contacts called and told me…the _Fowl Star_ was attacked and sunk last night in the Bay of Kola. No one has been able to locate your father."

Shock.

Disbelief.

Pain, anger.

All these feelings overwhelm me, and finally numbness sets in. I refuse to crack in front of Mr. Price.

"I…see, Butler. Will we be leaving?"

Mr. Price nods. "You may come back whenever you feel ready." he says with false cheer. I ignore him and walk out. Butler and Juliet follow.

Mother is not in the car. I ask Juliet where she is.

"She is feeling ill." Juliet tells me, but I can tell that is not the whole story. "She stayed home, but she says she wants to see you."

I nod. The ride back home is painful silence.

My father is quite possibly gone…and I don't know how to react.

What does that mean?

We arrive at the manor, and I go up to see Mother. She cries on my shoulders for a few minutes, then falls asleep. As I leave, I hear her begin murmuring in her sleep. She never talked in her sleep before. That isn't a good sign.

I head to my room, searching for something mundane to do. Finally, I begin typing up random ideas for patents. At some point, Juliet comes in with food and drink. A sandwich and a can of soda. It's a thoughtful gesture.

I don't even look at her. She places the tray on my desk and leaves.

It's been a couple hours before I hear someone knock on my door. It's Butler. He stands within range of my peripheral vision.

"Artemis, are you all right?"

"I am fine."

"Artemis…" he begins, "You know what this means, don't you?"

I turn to look at Butler, and the odd feeling I've had in my chest all day grows. "Yes, I know what this means." I tell him sharply. "It means my father is lost in the Artic Sea and has probably died of hypothermia. It means the millions of dollars Father sunk into this operation of his is gone. It means I am the head of the family until Father returns. If you expect me to be able to care for this family, I cannot take the time to answer questions."

Butler's eyes narrow at my short tone and harsh words, and I know I've upset him. His uncle was lost as well. He knows how I feel.

But how can he, when even I don't know how I feel?

I turn back to the computer, and after a minute of silence, Butler turns and walks away. I watch him go in the reflection on my computer screen. Once the door closes, I begin typing again.

A drop of water falls onto the keyboard. I frown and lift a hand to my face. It is wet.

In confusion, I stand and go to the mirror on my wall. My eyes are red—I have been crying. Odd. I haven't cried for years.

My document is unsaved, so I forget about the tears and return to my computer, wiping a hand across my face absently. I sit in my chair.

Father…he did so many things. He was a strong man, a bright man, and he knew that in order to get somewhere in this world, you need to take risks. Even I know that, and I'm just 11. He took—_takes_—risks, and for this risk, he paid for it with people's lives. Most likely his own.

My hand abruptly swings out and sends the cola can sitting on my desk into the wall. It crumples from the impact and falls to the floor. Tears begin to fall again as I stare at the computer screen, but I make no sound.

I am not emotionally equipped to deal with pain. I try to avoid it at all costs. But this…I can't hide from.

It takes a few hours for the tears to finally slow and stop. When they do, I load the CNN news website and wait for it to deliver news of my father's rescue.

He can't be dead. He's too important, too strong. We could do so much with our combined abilities—he still doesn't know how well I've followed in his footsteps.

He can't die until he knows that I really am a Fowl, that I really am his son.

I'm not ready to be the only Artemis Fowl.


	4. Meet the LEPRecons

ASN: Not ours....

AN: Wish it was....

* * *

My plan to capture a fairy and hold it for ransom does not seem quite so clear out here in the field. It's been over four months since we've started our stakeouts, and there have been no signs of unusual activity. I can't show any indecision in front of Butler, who already believes this a fool's errand.

And I'm finding it harder and harder to concentrate. My mother's fantasies have gotten worse. At first, her dementia was helpful in that I no longer had to worry about her discovery or interference in my plans. But now, she no longer remembers who I am from day to day.

I'm not sure what to do.

And that disturbs me almost as much as Mother's problems. I _always_ know what to do.

I must ruthlessly clear the thoughts from my head and turn my attention back to the task at hand. I stare through my scope, waiting for a fairy.

Butler moves behind me, a soft, somehow nervous sound. "Artemis, I know it's not my place, but I know there's something wrong. And if there's anything I can do..."

Brief indecision. I don't want Butler's trust in me to waver, but I need to talk to someone I can trust. And if I can't trust Butler, who can I trust?

I sigh. "It's my mother, Butler. I'm beginning to wonder if she'll ever—"

The alarm flashes red. A fairy has finally arrived.

Butler pulls the radar monitor to him, and nods at me. I pull my sunglasses on and nod at Butler to continue.

We creep out of my blind and towards the figure. It's clearly too small to be an adult human, but it is too delicately proportioned to be a child.

Delicate?

I must focus. This is probably the most important moment of my life. I nod at Butler, and he takes careful aim and fires the dart...just as the figure bends over.

Butler missed!

He _missed_?!

The figure pulls a weapon, and Butler immediately confronts it, wrenching the gun from it's grip with an amused comment I do not hear.

"I don't suppose you would consider peaceful surrender?" I ask as I step out of the shadows. The figure turns to me in fighting stance, defensive anger written all over her face.

"No, I suppose not." I sigh dramatically, but my thoughts race.

Her? It was clearly female.

I'll think about this later.

The fairy snaps something brave and threatening at me. I coolly remind her that since she has yet to complete the Ritual, she's not a large danger.

The elf is clearly shocked and dismayed that I know her race's secrets, but hides it well.

And then, her voice changes. It becomes deeper, and practically resonates with bass tones. "Human, your will is mine."

Ah. She's attempting to _mesmer_ us. The sunglasses fulfill their role marvelously. I grin at her. "I think not," I say, and wave at Butler, who fires again.

The dart strikes the fairy squarely this time, and she winces in undeniable pain before she falls to the grass.

Funny, I hadn't really expected the fairies to be so humanlike. And I really hadn't expected a girl.

* * *

I am bored. It is a cold night in late January, and I find myself with nothing to do. My recent encounter with the People has returned our bank accounts to their former level, and there has been no pressing need for another criminal enterprise. Also, with the reemergence of my mother from her fantasies, my life has become abruptly more structured and controlled.

I shudder slightly, although the room is heated almost to the point of being balmy. Mother plans on sending me to boarding school for the remainder of the spring semester, to some place called St. Bartleby's.

I glower at my computer without really seeing it. My criminal acts will be distinctively curtailed in a supervised institution.

Perhaps that is the reason for my exile. My mother is not a fool, and she does not approve of my activities. She may have given way before my father, but apparently, she will not for me. Having my father gone has made her more independent and decisive, as well as stubborn. Although, maybe that was Captain Short's influence on my mother when the elf healed her...

I scowl slightly. There was no logical reason for the captain to meddle with my mother's mind. More probably, the elf just allowed those characteristics to advance to the front of my mother's persona rather than being repressed, as they were before my father's disappearance.

In any case, Mother has definitely been more active since her healing. In the whirlwind of activity following her recovery, I have had no time to continue my plots, and there are none that I can successfully initiate and conclude before I leave.

I glower at the computer monitor. Undoubtedly, I will have an ample amount of time to plan a series of complex schemes during my so-called 'advanced' classes. However, I will not have access to a secure Internet line, or the other, more unusual resources needed to carry them out my plans. Thusly, they will have to wait until I can return here to Fowl Manor.

I am _not_ looking forward to this new school.

My hands flex on the keyboard. I will make use of what time I have remaining. Perhaps there is something simple that does not require weeks of preparation that will add a few hundred thousand Euros to our accounts.

My rapid typing slows a little. One of the small, but successful, trading companies on the New York Stock exchange has left their systems blindingly open. At least, open to a hacker with any amount of finesse. I lean toward the screen in rapt concentration.

It is quite easy to access their server and view their client's accounts. I pull my newly redesigned skimming program from a drawer and load it. My computer hums peacefully as it prepares to upload the program into the company's server and cause the company to 'misplace' some of its funds.

As I wait for the program to load, I scan through the company's records. They had not been doing as well as their public reports had boasted. In fact, the company is struggling to operate. If I proceed with my plan and take my planned amount of money from the accounts, the trading company will most likely go bankrupt.

I can feel a frown furrowing my brow. This should not concern me.

But it does. The company is not carrying enough insurance for their client's accounts. Many people will lose their money. Money that they are depending on for the future. Money that will suddenly evaporate into nothingness.

I sigh and change a few numbers on my program. The program obediently skims off only a fraction of what I had it originally programmed to do.

I lean back in my chair, slightly disgusted with myself.

The company will take a hit, but the insurance will cover it. The company will survive and will definitely address its security, or rather, the lack thereof, preventing a less scrupulous hacker from doing what I could not.

I believe I am getting soft. My encounter with the elves of the LEP has definitely changed me, made me more aware of the effects of my actions on other people.

I am not sure I appreciate it.

After all, Gold is Power. Aurum Est Potestas.

And yet...I had gold. I had a literal _ton_ of gold. Nevertheless, it did not satisfy my desires. It did not make me...happy, for the lack of a better word. It did not have the power to heal my mother's mind and give me back the woman who loved me as I am.

In fact, only giving _back_ the gold gave me that power.

And so, I find myself thinking that the clichéd notion that 'money is not everything' may actually be true.

However, money is definitely _something_, and I would personally much rather have it than not.

I decisively return my skimming program to the drawer and lock it up for a more opportune time.

I think I will move my enterprises into exploiting more shady or distasteful companies. Not victimless crimes, but the only victims will be the ones who deserve it. Or who can afford it.

Perhaps that will appease my newly developing sense of conscience.

I sigh and start up the Internet to search for a deserving opponent for my next plot.

Crime was so much easier before I met Holly.


	5. Annoying the Doctor

ASN: Artemis is not ours, and never will be...

AN: Depressed?

ASN: Kinda.

* * *

I missed Mother when she was ill. I never forgot about her predicament. I may have pushed it to the back of my mind during the fairy escapade last year, but I never completely forgot. And I am truly glad I made that deal with Captain Short to heal her. I do not regret that decision.

However, if I had known Mother would decide to send me to a counselor…

"Now, Master Fowl, let's talk, shall we?"

I sigh. These people, counselors _and_ Mother, simply do not understand. My mind is a superior work; no mere school counselor could contemplate the way I function. I most likely know more and psychology than Doctor Po. I've certainly read more textbooks on the subject.

He is waiting for me to speak, so I inform him of the fact that his precious Victorian chair is a fake. Perhaps this will end the session early.

It doesn't work.

"Yes, Artemis, very clever. Just as your file says. Playing your little games. Now shall we get back to you?"

I straighten a crease in my trousers. He's already annoyed, and we've barely started. No doubt he'll be leaving by the end of the week. "There is a problem here, Doctor." I tell him.

"Really? And what might that be?"

"The problem is that I know the textbook answers to any question you care to ask." Of course, I know the typical incorrect answers as well, but that is a fact to be saved for another session.

Po scribbles for a least a minutes. I wouldn't be surprised if he was creating his shopping list. "We do have a problem, Artemis. But that's not it." he tells me.

I smile inwardly and wonder what new disorder I will be diagnosed with today. There are so many areas to choose from. Multiple personality disorder, maybe? Many think I'm a pathological liar. Enlighten me, Doctor Po.

"The problem is that you don't respect anyone enough to treat them as an equal."

Surprising. I didn't think any counselor would even venture in that direction. This doctor is smarter than the others.

That could be harmful in the long run.

"That's ridiculous." I tell him. "I hold several people in the highest esteem."

Po does not seem to believe me. When he asks, as I knew he would, I give him examples. Einstein, Archimedes. Men who understood the world, as I do. Then he asks for people I actually know.

Do I respect anyone I have met?

In all honesty…

"What? No example?" Po asks.

I shrug. "You seem to have all the answers, Doctor Po, why don't you tell me?"

Po begins to blabber about my biography, and how it explains a lot. That intrigues me. My biography tended to send most other counselors whimpering back to their mentors.

"Firstly, there's your associate, Butler. A bodyguard, I understand. Hardly a suitable companion for an impressionable boy."

Impressionable? Dear doctor, Butler is my bodyguard precisely to make sure I'm _not_ impressionable.

"Then there's your mother. A wonderful woman in my opinion, but with absolutely no control over your behavior."

That is…actually, that's fairly accurate.

"Finally, there's your father. According to this, he wasn't much of a role model, even when he was alive."

_That_ stings. Much more than I thought it would. He knows _nothing_ about my father. He's never met him, and he has no idea what sort of a role model he _is_…and if I know anything, I know my father is alive. I inform Doctor Po of that.

"Really?" Po checks his sheet. "I was under the impression that he had been missing for almost two years. Why, the courts have declared him legally dead."

My heart is pounding, and under any normal circumstances, I might have lost my temper. I am Irish, after all. But I have to make an impression, so I keep my face a blank mask, revealing nothing. "I don't care what the courts say, or the Red Cross. He is alive, and I will find him."

Po makes another note—probably about my obsessive behavior—and continues probing.

"But even if your father were to return, what then? Will you follow in his footsteps? Will you be a criminal like him? Perhaps you already are?"

_Now_ I am getting annoyed. "My father was no criminal. He was moving all our assets into legitimate enterprises. The Murmansk venture was completely aboveboard."

"You're avoiding the question, Artemis." Po says.

I'm tired of this. Less than a handful of sessions, and this counselor has found more weaknesses and made me angrier than all the others put together. Enough is enough.

"Why, Doctor?" I protest, trying to sound shocked and hurt. Judging from his suddenly intrigued look, I suppose I succeeded. "This is a sensitive area. For all you know, I could be suffering from depression."

"I suppose you could." Po agrees. He is attempting not to look excited and failing miserably. "Is that the case?"

No longer able to keep the smirk off my face, I hide in my hands. "It's my mother, Doctor."

"Your mother?"

"My mother, she…"

I hear a crack as Po leans forward in his chair. "Your mother, yes?"

"She forces me to endure this ridiculous therapy, when the so-called counselors are little better than misguided do-gooders with degrees."

Po sighs and leans back in his chair. I lift my head, and note with satisfaction the dirty look he is giving the room.

Or specifically, the room's occupant.

"Very well, Artemis. Have it your way, but you are never going to find peace if you continue to run away from your problems."

My cell phone vibrates in my pocket before he can continue. Odd. Only one person knows my number, and he wouldn't call unless something important had occurred. I pull the hone from my pocket, fighting down any hints of panic. I have only been interrupted during the school day once. And that did not end well.

"Yes?"

"Artemis. It's me." Butler says.

Even in a potential crisis, I cannot hide the sarcasm. "Obviously. I'm in the middle of something here."

"We've had a message."

"Yes. From where?" Any number of people could be contacting the Fowls, but not very many would warrant a phone call.

"I don't know exactly. But it concerns the _Fowl Star_."

It almost feels like a bolt of lightening has made its way down my spine. I sit a little taller—not an easy task in such straight-backed chairs as these. "Where are you?"

'The main gate."

"Good man. I'm on my way." I stand. Doctor Po pulls his glasses off and glares.

"This session is not over, young man. We made some progress today, even if you won't admit it. Leave now, and I will be forced to inform the dean."

I ignore him. I could try to explain, but I do not want to waste the time. I need to plan, to think, and it is hard to do that when he's analyzing my every move.

Something big is starting. I can feel it.

* * *

As I walk to the gate, my excitement fades and I think about Doctor Po's questions. They annoyed me—and that annoys me. Butler sees me as I walk through the gate, and his brow furrows slightly.

"Problems, sir?"

I get into the car and open a bottle of still water. "Hardly, Butler. Just another quack spouting psycho-babble."

Butler can tell it upset me a little, and requests to have a word with him. A loyal bodyguard indeed.

"Never mind him now. What news of the _Fowl Star_?"

"We got an email at the manor this morning. It's an MPG."

I scowl. I can access emails on my mobile phone, but not MPG files. I will have to wait to see it.

When news seems this important, my patience tends to disappear.

"I thought you might be anxious to see the file, so I downloaded it onto this." Butler says, passing me the laptop. Excellent, Butler. I start it. The battery seems to be dead, for the screen is filled with white snow. Upon closer examination, I realize it is just that—snow. An innocent image of a snowy terrain.

I'm getting nervous.

The camera moves, showing a grey sky, then a black object in the distance. Slowly, as the camera approaches the object, in changes into the form of a man. He is tied to a chair. The jingle of the ice cubes makes me notice that my hands are shaking.

The man is dressed in rags, though they seem to be the remains of a fine suit. He is scarred, and looks generally abused. I am almost choking on each breath. This man…

The camera zooms in on a handwritten sign slung around the man's neck. It is in Russian, but I know what it means. The screen goes blank.

"Is that all?" I ask.

"Just the man, and the sign. That's it."

"Zdravstvutye syn." I murmur absently.

"Should I translate for you?"

"No, I know what it means." I say. And I know what it implicates… "Zdravsvutye syn: Hello, son."

The car is silent for several minutes as I fight to keep myself under control. If this was even close to being real…

"Do you think it's him, Artemis? Could that man be your father?"

I rewind the file and watch it again, freezing it on the man's face. Even with the scars, and the pain-filled eyes, he seems so familiar. I lightly touch the display, unconsciously trying to get closer.

"I think so, Butler. But the picture quality is too poor. I can't be certain." Butler says nothing, and I finally pull myself together. "I must pursue this, Butler."

You know what's coming next, of course?"

"Yes. A ransom demand." It's what all criminals do in a situation like this—including me. "This is merely the teaser, to get my attention. I need to cash in some of the People's gold. Contact Lars in Zurich immediately."

Butler disagrees. He informs me about the likelihood of surviving the payoff. I do not argue. He knows more about kidnapping and the Mafiya than I do.

"You're right, of course. I swill have to devise a plan."

I sit back in my seat. There are many ways I can proceed, many things I can do…and many ways this can turn out. I contemplate my options as we continue to drive, and then start asking Butler questions. He informs me that the MPG is untraceable, in any way, and I frown. What else can I do?

"How fast can we get to Russia?" I ask after a minute.

"It depends."

"Depends on what?"

"On how we go, legal or illegal."

"Which is quicker?" I respond.

Butler laughs, and that surprises me. He laughs less than I do. "Illegal is usually faster. Either way is going to be pretty slow. We can't go by air, that's for sure. The Mafiya is going to have foot soldiers at every air strip."

I frown. "Are you sure it's the Mafiya?"

Butler is sure. We continue to talk, going over IDs and a rough time schedule. Luckily, mother and Juliet are in Nice for a week. We should be done and home by the time they return. And that also means about eight days away from school. A welcome respite.

"We could go straight to the airport from Fowl Manor, the Lear jet is stocked. At least we can fly as far as Scandinavia, and we can try to pick up a boat from there. I just have to pick up a few things from the manor first."

I can only imagine what sort of 'things' my bodyguard wants. Anything ranging from sharp and pointy to large with many bullets. "Good. The sooner the better. We've got to find these people before they know we're looking. We can monitor email as we go."

"You know Artemis, we're going up against the Russian Mafiya. I had dealings with these people before. They don't negotiate. This could get bloody. If we take these gangsters on, people are going to get hurt. Most likely us."

I nod, not really listening. I need a plan. Something impressive, something that has never been tried before.

We arrive at the Manor, and Butler gets out, asking if I need anything. I ask for caviar—odd, I know—and he smiles. He leaves, and I begin to work on an email for the principal. It's not very tactful…so I address it from Mother, and can't help but smile. I would like to see Principal Guiney's face when he reads it, but I cannot. There are too many pressing things to do.

Butler appears, opens the door, and after a second, he gets into the car. I place my phone into its pocket calmly.

I do not have time for this.

"Captain Short, I presume. Why don't you stop vibrating, and settle into the visible spectrum?"

There is a pause, and then a fairy slowly appears. She does not look happy, and there is a big, slightly familiar gun in her hands.

"Really, Holly, is that necessary?" I ask, trying to keep a smirk off my face.

She snorts. "Well, let's see. Kidnapping, actual bodily harm, extortion, conspiracy to commit murder. I'd say it's necessary."

Murder? When did I conspire to commit murder? Surely she's not talking about the business with Commander Root and the exploding whaler, is she? It was less of a murder attempt and more of attempting to make a point.

Which I made quite clearly, I believe.

I'll think it about later, when I have time. I smile at the unamused elf. "Please, Captain Short. I was young and selfish. Believe it or not, I do harbor some doubts over that particular venture."

She doesn't seem to believe me. "Not enough to return the gold?"

"No." I admit. "Not quite."

"How did you know it was me?" he asks, changing subject abruptly.

I steeple my fingers. "There were several clues." I say. "One, Butler did not conduct his usual bomb check under the car. Two, he retuned without the items he went to fetch. Three, the door was open for several seconds, something no good security man would permit. And four, I detected a slight haze as you entered the vehicle. Elementary, really." I really guessed on whether it was her or not…which other fairy would get so close without shooting me?

I think she prefers to use her fists.

She scowls at me. "Observant little Mud Boy, aren't you?"

"I try. Now, Captain Short, if you would be so kind as to tell me why you are here." I don't think I warrant a surprise visit like this. Not without being suspected of something.

"As if you don't know." she snaps.

I don't know, but I can guess. Interesting. "Obviously something I am being held responsible for." I raise an eyebrow. If the fairies believe I am responsible, that would mean… "There are humans trading with the People."

"Very impressive." she says a little nastily. "Or it would be, if we didn't both know that you're behind it." She nods at the laptop. "And if we can't get the truth out of you, I'm sure your computer files will prove most revealing."

All right. This has been most entertaining, but I have more pressing matters. I close the laptop deliberately. "Captain. I realize there is no love lost between us, but I don't have time for this now. It is imperative that you give me a few days to sort out my affairs."

Holly shakes her head once. "No can do, Fowl. There are a few people underground who would like a word."

I'm glad for them, but I cannot take the time to—wait. Perhaps I can… I shrug. "I suppose, after what I did, I can't expect any consideration."

"That's right. You can't."

"Well then," I sigh, "I don't suppose I have a choice."

She smiles, a smile with a feral hint behind it. "That's right, Fowl, you don't."

"Shall we go?" I suggest meekly. However…this might actually end up being rather helpful. The fairies have certain abilities, not to mention technology, that no one, Mafiya or not, would be expecting.

"Why not?" Captain Short turns to Butler. When she speaks again, her voice is lower, heavier. "Drive south. Stay on the back roads."

That's a helpful little hint. "Tara, I presume. I've often wondered where exactly the entrance to E1 was." I say.

"Keep wondering, Mud Boy." Captain Short grumbles. She speaks again—

Everything goes black.


	6. Strange Partnerships

ASN: Surely you get the idea by now...

* * *

I wake to a rhythmic knocking, and for a few moments I mistake it to be my masseuse. Suddenly I remember. The train. With the fairies.

I must still be on the train. Holly and I fell into the carriage after pulling Commander Root and Butler inside. I wonder how long I've been unconscious. Even though I don't want to move, I open my eyes anyway, expecting a wave of pain and stiff joints to hit me.

Actually, I feel just fine. No aches, no pain. Holly must have healed me. I wonder why. Was I hurt? I don't think so.

I glance up to see Commander Root covering Holly with a piece of material. She doesn't seem to be awake yet. Root doesn't even look at me as he begins to speak.

"Oh, you're awake, are you? I don't know how you can sleep at all after what you've just done."

That sounds ominous. "Done? But I saved you—at least, I helped."

"You helped all right, Fowl." Root spits at me. "You helped yourself to the last of Holly's magic while she was unconscious."

I groan. That explains a lot. "I see what must have happened. It was an…"

Root stops me. "Don't say it. The Great Artemis Fowl doesn't do anything by accident."

I rise to my knees slowly, trying to see Holly's face. "It can't be anything serious. Just exhaustion, surely."

Wrong thing to say. The commander is suddenly in my face, screaming at me. And his words send a wave of horror through my body.

"She lost her finger?" I repeat numbly.

To my disgust, Root holds up the body part. "Not lost, exactly. It poked me in the eye on the way past."

I need a plan. This is serious, and since it happened during my rescue attempt, I'm the one responsible. "If we go back now, surely your surgeons can graft it on?"

Root shakes his head. Too dangerous, apparently. What else can we do?

"How long?"

The elf blinks at me. "What?"   
"How long ago did it happen?"

"I don't know. A minute."

"Then there's still time." I say, my mind racing. If only…

Root looks interested now. "Time for what?"

"We can still save the finger."

The interest is suddenly gone. He rubs his shoulder and glares. "With what? I barely have enough power left for the _mesmer_."

I close my eyes. There has to be something. Anything. Come on, you're a genius; think of something!

"What about the Ritual? There must be a way."

"How can we complete the Ritual here?"

Let's see…oak trees, a full moon, an acorn, Holly's escape from—yes!

I move as fast as I can to where Holly lays and begin searching her clothes. There's a sudden noise of sputtering from behind me.

"In heaven's name, Mud Boy, what are you doing?"

Even though I don't glance up, I know Root's not too far from killing me in the slowest and most painful way possible. And quite honestly, if I'm wrong, I wouldn't blame him.

But I'm never wrong, so we should be fine.

"Last year, Holly escaped because she had an acorn."

Another moment of meaningless sounds. "Five seconds, Fowl. Talk fast." he says finally.

"An officer like Holly wouldn't forget something like that. I'd be willing to bet…"

Root babbles something about the Council, a sealed acorn, and hearsay. I ignore it. He hasn't shot me yet, so I assume I have permission to continue. I unzip Holly's tunic slightly, and see two objects on a chain around her neck. One is her Booke, and the other…

Inwardly, I smile.

"That's against regulations." Root says softly when he notices the sphere of earth. He doesn't sound too distressed.

Holly now decides to wake up. "Hey, Commander. What happened to your eye?"

I don't say anything and crack the sphere against the floor. Earth and an acorn land in my palm. I knew it.

"Now all we have to do is bury it."

Root grabs Holly and stands. He glances at me. "Then it's time to get off this train."

Joy.

* * *

We make it off the train, and I think I'm going to remember every moment of that trip for the rest of my life. Simple physics or not, that was not at all what I was expecting.

The commander and Butler work on getting through the snow and ice as I stand and watch. We have to hurry.

Butler uses his gun to knock a hole in the ice. There's earth underneath, and my heart pounds. We only have seconds to make sure this works. They place Holly in the hole, and Root pushes her hand holding the acorn deep into the earth. We wait, worry almost tangible in the air.

"It mightn't take." Root says softly. "This sealed acorn thing is new. Never been tested. Foaly and his ideas. But they usually work. They usually do."

'Usually' isn't a real comfort. But I can tell Root is worried. Slowly, I place my hand on his shoulder, like my father always did. What else can I do?

If this doesn't work…

Nothing happens. How long has it been? I wasn't keeping count.

This was all my fault. I just—wait…

"Look! A spark." I cry.

"Stand back." Root warns. I back up, not really listening to the rest of his words as I stare at Holly's form. The sparks are multiplying.

Holly jerks up suddenly, and begins to move erratically. The sounds she makes are inhuman. Which makes a sort of sense, since she isn't human, but still…

"Is this normal?" I ask.

"I think so. The brain is running a systems check. It's not like fixing cuts and bruises, if you know what I mean." Root answers.

Steam and water begins to cloud our view of Holly. The part we can still see is her hand, almost a blur of movement. If this is a good sign, I'd hate to see a harmful healing.

She freezes, and disappears into the misty steam surrounding the hole. Root moves closer first; Butler and I follow a little more slowly. We peer in.

"I think she's awake…"

Before I can say anything, Holly sits up sharply, gasping for breath.

Relief.

I dart to her and grab her by the shoulders. I am being much too forward, but I don't care. "Holly. Holly, speak to me. Your finger. Is it okay?"

She moves her fingers a little, watching them almost proudly. They curl up into a fist easily. Her eyes flicker up to meet mine.

I don't like that look…

"I think so," she tells me.

Pain!

She hit me.

She _hit_ me.

Again!!

Does she have some fascination with trying to break my nose?!

* * *

News of my father's miraculous rescue comes in the middle of AP Physics. Why does everything happen during class?

Not that I'm complaining.

Doctor Po comes in and hurriedly whispers in my teacher's ear. Both turn to stare at me. Any other time I would be concerned, but I know what they are talking about.

Po almost runs to my seat. "Artemis, you need to come with me!" he says urgently. I calmly stand and gather my materials, taking some small pleasure in making him wait. As soon as we get into the hall, he turns to me, eyes shining.

"Artemis…we got some wonderful news. Your father…he's alive!"

I allow a flicker of surprise to cross my normally implacable face, but say nothing. Po watches me for a moment, then turns and walks toward the entrance of the school.

"Your bodyguard is on his way to take you home." he says. I nod and keep walking. I can see Po give me a sideways glance.

"I believe I owe you an apology, Artemis." he says, surprising me. I look at him. He smiles a little. "After all, you were the one convinced he was alive, and I doubted you. You were right."

I say absently, "Of course I was."

Po looks at me sharply. "Artemis, Butler won't be here for another ten or fifteen minutes. Why don't you step into my office so we can talk about this event?"

Oops.

I must be _extremely_ tired to even _think_ that.

I reluctantly follow the counselor into his office.

He's gotten a new chair.

I smile. He notices. "So, Artemis. Your father has returned after all these years."

"It was only two, sir. Hardly a lengthy period of time."

There was silence for a moment. "How do you feel about this, Artemis?" he asks suddenly, catching me off guard.

My mind begins to race. How do I feel about my father being back? Quite frankly, I'm ecstatic. He's home—my life can completely return to normal.

Normal as it can be, considering I was the one to rescue him.

And I had to shoot him to do it.

But that's acceptable. I've only had one nightmare about that.

Of course, yesterday was the first time I was actually able to sleep since returning from the Artic, but that's not an important fact.

Po clears his throat, and I suddenly realize he said something else. "Pardon, sir?"

"Are you all right?" he asks kindly.

"I…lost my train of thought, that's all." I tell him calmly. Po raises an eyebrow.

"I didn't know a genius could lose his train of thought." he says dryly.

"Well, genius does have its limitations." I say. Po nods tolerantly and scribbles something on his ever present notepad.

"But then, _stupidity_ is not thus handicapped." I add.

Po's head snaps up, and he stares at me in disbelief. I sigh, and stand.

"Sir, I realize you wish to talk to me about my feelings at this pivotal point in my life, but my father has been found alive after being told he was dead for the past years, and I wish to see him. May I go?"

Po slowly nods. "Sure, Artemis." he says.

I head for the door. I do not run. I never run…unless the People are involved.

But I did move fast.


	7. Sparring with Spiro

ASN: Insert standard disclaimer here

* * *

As the dust settles from Butler's sonix grenade, the only thing I can feel is disbelief. Jon Spiro tried to steal from _me_! Then he _threatened_ me, and if it hadn't been for Butler's sonix grenade...

I can feel myself start to shake, and I sink back into my chair.

Butler and I could have _died_.

I misjudged Jon Spiro, and only Butler's planning saved us from dying a rather ignoble death at the hands of Spiro's goon.

However, we didn't die, and the Cube must be retrieved. I doubt Spiro can break my eternity code, but if he does....

He could discover the People. And he would not rest until he had drained them of everything they had.

If we can stop Spiro before he leaves the country, this could be wrapped up neatly. Butler knows someone in the security at Heathrow, I seem to recall...

And then the bodyguard steps out of the kitchen, silhouetted by the afternoon sun.

He saved my life.

"Butler, we must really talk regarding your salary..."

Wait...that's not Butler! It's Blunt!

How can he possibly be up moving around?! His eardrums should have been ruptured.

He mumbles something through broken teeth and holds out two bits of yellow foam.

"Earplugs. I always wear 'em before a fight. Good thing too, eh?"

He raises his pistol towards me, and time seems to slow. My mind goes completely blank, and my world narrows to the sight of the wrong end of a gun pointed at me.

"You first," I hear Blunt lisp through his shattered teeth, "Then the ape."

No...

There is a small popping sound as the silenced pistol fires, and suddenly Butler slams into me. I crash into the dessert cart, and Butler falls on top of me. I smash through the first shelf and sink into a marsh of pastries and ice cream. I hear more shots as Butler fires back at Blunt.

Silence.

And then I hear the sound of a body thumping to the tile floor.

I start to move, trying to extricate myself from my squishy refuge. A visit to the chiropractor will definitely be next on my list, as soon as we retrieve my Cube. Butler might benefit from a visit also, although he does have the constitution of a troll.

I crawl from the wreckage of the cart, and cream horns explode all over my suit.

I'll have to get this cleaned before my parents return home.

"Really, Butler," I grumble, finally getting free, "I must begin choosing my business associates more carefully. Hardly a day goes by when we aren't the victims of some plot."

The henchman is unconscious on the floor. Good. A death would be hard to explain.

"Another villain dispatched. Good shooting, Butler, as usual. And one more thing, I have decided to wear a bulletproof vest to all future meetings. That should make your job somewhat easier, eh?"

I look at Butler, and notice a large hole in shirt.

A large, red, oozing hole.

D' Arvit.

"Butler, you're injured. Shot. But the Kevlar?" I stammer, dropping to my knees beside him. One look, and I understand.

Arno Blunt tried to shoot me from a very close range. Butler jumped in between us, and the bullet was traveling at such high velocity that it tore through the vest like paper.

There has to be something I can do.

There's always _something_ I can do!!

"Artemis...is that you?" he gasps softly, and my thoughts scatter.

"Yes, it's me." I reply softly. I can hear the tremor in my voice. Please, no...

"Don't worry. Juliet will protect you. You'll be fine." It takes me a moment to catch what he's talking about. He wants Juliet to guard me? But that means....

"Don't talk, Butler. Lie still. The wound is not serious." I say firmly, my mind racing.

His body shakes as the bodyguard splutters out a weak laugh.

"Very well, it is serious. But I will think of something. Just stay still."

Butler can't die. I will think of something. I'm a genius, for God's sake! Surely I can think of something, the one time it _really_ matters!

Butler raises a hand towards me. "Goodbye, Artemis. My friend."

I can feel tears running down my face. Tears of frustration for my lack of ideas.

Tears of grief, for my best friend is dying.

And it's my fault.

"Goodbye, Butler."

He looks up at me calmly. "Artemis, call me Domovoi."

Domovoi? A Russian guardian spirit. Odd choice for a name. But why is he telling me this? A bodyguard should never reveal his name, because it helps keep a professional distance between him and his principal. Unless, of course, it no longer matters...

"Goodbye, Domovoi. Goodbye, my friend." I sob, clutching his hand.

And then it slips from my grip.

Butler is gone.

"No!" I shout, staggering backwards.

It wasn't supposed to end like this. We were supposed to die together in some grand adventure, as friends. After defeating a troll in hand to hand combat, Butler simply _cannot_ be defeated by some grandstanding, second rate muscleman.

Although he was wounded in the encounter with the troll. But Holly healed him.

The fairies!

I have to contact the LEP and convince Holly to heal Butler again. She could do it, and what's more, she _might_ do it.

But Butler only has four minutes before his brain shuts down for good.

That's not long enough for me to contact her.

Think, boy, think. Use what the situation provides.

A fish restaurant?

Worthless! Useless! I need proper tools. Then maybe I could do something. But all I have here are ovens, sinks, kitchen utensils, freezers....

Freezers!

If I can only halt Butler's passage through time, I could contact the LEP and they could arrive at their leisure.

It's a very risky idea. Cryogenics has never been proven to work in humans.

But it's my only idea.

And it's Butler's only hope.

* * *

Thoughts spin around my head as I board the Learjet to Chicago and the Spiro Needle. As Butler said, this plan to fool Jon Spiro and retrieve my stolen Cube from his possession is definitely the most convoluted plan I've ever come up with. It's also the most complicated and most intricate scheme I've ever imagined.

It's also the scheme with the most potential to fall apart—no, to _shatter_—into a million pieces if any one part goes wrong.

Despite my confident reassurance to Butler, I'm not at all comfortable with this plan. It's very complex, and I had to come up with it in a very short time.

My plans aren't always this important, either. It's very rarely been _vital_ that my plans succeed. Most of the time they have succeeded anyway, of course, but there was never this much pressure.

Except when I kidnapped and ransomed Holly. There failure would have cost me my life, as well as the lives of Butler, Juliet, and my mother.

Here, failure could, in all probability, plunge the world into an interspecies war if Spiro breaks my eternity code and learns of the People's existence.

I'm not usually this worried over things.

It must be because Butler's not with me. He's _always_ been with me, for as long as I can remember. Not having him around is like missing a very important part of myself. Like an arm, or a leg.

Or a conscience.

I shake my head violently. My self-confidence has taken a very large hit, and I know it. I've always been so proud of having people underestimate me because of my age, so that I can surprise them with my abilities. However, this time, I underestimated Jon Spiro. Badly. It cost Butler his life, and it was only by the slightest of chances that Holly healed him. It _will_ cost us our memories unless I think of something...

And it's very hard to concentrate with Mulch babbling happily in my ear. My plan depends on him, but...

"Hey, Artemis," he says through a mouthful of my caviar, "Do you remember the time I nearly blew Butler's head off with a blast of gas?"

I stare at him, unsmiling. Can't he think of anything better to talk about? And doesn't he realize that I need to concentrate? "I remember, Mulch. You were the wrench in an otherwise perfect works."

"To tell you the truth, it was an accident. I was just nervous. I didn't even realize the big guy was there."

I sigh softly and resign myself to a conversation with the kleptomaniac. "That makes me feel even better. Done in by a bowel problem." I say sarcastically, although Mulch doesn't seem to notice.

"And do you remember the time I saved your neck in Koboi Laboratories? If it hadn't been for me, you'd be locked up in Howler's Peak right now. Can't you do anything without me?"

Apparently, the dwarf forgot that the only reason I was in the Laboratories was to save _his_ life. I consider pointing this out, but it will likely have no effect on the babbling dwarf.

"Apparently not, though I live for the day." I say dryly, sipping my mineral water.

Holly enters, much to my relief.

"We better get you ready, Artemis. We land in thirty minutes."

"Good idea." I say, standing.

The elf dumps her bag onto the table. "Okay, what do we need for now? The throat mike and an iris camera." She rummages around until she comes out with the desired items. She peels the back off a large circular bandage and, without further ado, sticks it onto my neck.

"Memory latex," explains Holly. "It's almost invisible. Maybe an ant crawling up your neck might notice it, but apart from that... The material is also X-ray proof, so the mike is undetectable. It will pick up whatever is said in a ten-yard radius, and I can record it on my helmet chip. Unfortunately, we can't risk an earpiece. Too visible, so we can hear you, but you won't be able to hear us."

That's unfortunate, but I never expected to have that advantage, so I planned accordingly. "And the camera?"

Holly pulls the lens from a vial and proceeds to give an equally detailed description of the camera mechanism.

"This thing is a marvel. We've got high-resolution, digital quality, recordable picture with several filter options, including magnification and thermal."

"You're starting to sound like Foaly." Mulch says snidely.

Indeed she is...wait...

"A technological marvel it may be, but it's hazel," I say. This is an unexpected complication...

"Of course it's hazel. My eyes are hazel," Holly replies uncomprehendingly.

"I'm glad to hear it, Holly," I say, a little annoyed at her obtuseness. "But my eyes are blue, as you well know. This iris-cam will not do."

Holly scowls back at me. "Don't look at me, Mud Boy. You're the genius."

I stare at her, and I can feel my brow furrow further. "I can't go in there with one brown eye and one blue eye. Spiro will notice."

"Well," she shoots back, "You should have thought of that while you were meditating. It's a little late now."

I sigh and rub the bridge of my nose. "You're right, of course," I answer resignedly. "I am the mastermind here. Thinking is my responsibility, not yours."

Holly looks at me suspiciously. "Was that an insult, Mud Boy?"

Mulch saves me from having to think of an answer that won't get my nose broken. "I have to tell you, Arty, a screwup this early in the proceedings doesn't exactly fill me with confidence. I hope you're as clever as you keep telling everyone you are."

I turn to the dwarf and give him my most forbidding and ominous smile. "I never tell anybody _exactly_ how clever I am. They would be too scared." The dwarf doesn't appear moved, and I turn to Holly, firmly back in control. "Very well, we will have to risk the hazel iris-cam. With any luck, Spiro might not notice. If he does, I can invent some excuse."

Holly carefully slips the camera into my eye, and I blink a few times.

"It's your decision, Artemis," she said softly. "I just hope you haven't met your match in Jon Spiro."

As do I.

I watch as Holly returns to the cockpit and Mulch returns to his dinner. I take a deep breath and sit, readying myself for my role as frightened hostage.

I am definitely able to take care of Jon Spiro and retrieve my Cube.

Too much depends on our success to have me fail.


	8. The End

AN: Not ours, don't sue, yadda yadda....

* * *

It's very hard for me to sit still as the technical gnomes swarm around us, setting up the mindwipe equipment, brushing our foreheads with disinfectant. They are very clinical and efficient, treating this as if it is a simple medical procedure.

I suppose for them, it is.

For us, on the other hand...

My thoughts continue to whirl as Butler and Foaly discuss what will be done to make him look his previous age. The mirrored contact lenses should repel Holly's _mesmer_, but...

A brief commotion at the door. Mulch is led in. Good. I wanted to give him the medallion in person.

Butler and Juliet kneel to speak to him, and Root appears on the communications screen. Screaming, as usual.

"Maybe you two would like to get married?" he barked. "I don't know what all the emotion is about. In ten minutes you people won't even remember this convict's name!"

Mulch pouts up at the screen and says something that I don't hear.

Holly won't look at me.

My thoughts scatter as Root snarls again. "I couldn't care less about your touchy-feely moment, I'm here to make sure this wipe goes smoothly. If I know our friend, Fowl, he's got a few tricks up his sleeve."

"Really, Commander. Such suspicion is wounding," I protest with a grin. Everyone knows that I will have hidden items to spark recall. It's up them to find them.

One final contest.

I stand and approach the dwarf. "Mulch. Of all the fairy people, I will miss your services the most. We could have had such a future together."

Mulch gets a far-off look on his face and his eyes tear. "True. With your brains and my special talents."

"Not to mention your mutual lack of morals," interjected Holly.

Her tone of voice is very different now. Maybe I was just imagining that she wasn't eagerly looking forward to my imminent mindwiping.

I have to try to look sincere. This part is vital to my plan.

"Mulch, I know you risked your life betraying the Antonelli family, so I'd like to give you something."

Mulch makes the obligatory protests, although I can almost see dollar signs dance in his eyes.

Surprisingly, I find that I'm going to miss him. And in a few minutes, I won't even know what I'm missing.

I untie my medallion from my neck. "I know it isn't much, but it means a lot to me. I was going to keep it, but I realized that in a few minutes it will mean absolutely nothing. I would like you to have it. I think Holly would, too. A little memento of our adventures."

Mulch picks up the medallion. "Gee. Half an ounce of gold. Great. You really broke the bank there, Artemis."

I grip his hand and press the tiny note into it. "It's not always about money, Mulch." I stare deeply into his eyes.

Root complains about not being able to see, and Holly holds up the coin for him to see. I keep eye contact with the dwarf, and comprehension dawns in his eyes. He smiles widely, and Holly leads him out of the room.

Technicians suddenly descend like flies, and electrodes are attached to my temples and wrists in a heartbeat.

I resist the increasingly strong urge to beat them away and look up at Foaly.

"Calibrate them to sixteen months ago. Actually, make that about three years. I don't want Artemis planning his initial kidnap all over again."

"Bravo, Foaly." I say bitterly. "I was hoping you would miss that."

Although, my memories that led up to my kidnapping a fairy for ransom actually started back in my childhood. Will he get all those too in his search for related memories?

But those memories are part of who I am. All of them are.

Root's pixilated face looks insufferably smug, and he smiles at Foaly.

The centaur checks a handheld computer. "We checked your email, and guess what?"

"Do tell."

"We found a fairy file, just waiting to be delivered. And someone with your email address had rented some storage megabytes. More fairy files."

They were only decoys, so the loss of those files is not overly alarming. I shrug. "I had to try. I'm sure you understand."

"Anything else you want to tell us about?"

I open my eyes wide and try to look innocent. "Nothing. You're too clever for me."

None of the fairies look overly convinced. Foaly informs me that he detonated a data charge in my computer that monitor my systems for six months.

"And you're telling me this because I won't remember it anyway." I say flatly.

Foaly dances and claps his hand together. "Exactly."

Holly finally returns, and this time she's dragging a metallic capsule instead of a reluctant captive.

"Look what they found buried in the grounds." She dumps the capsule on the carpet, and disks and books went skittering across the floor.

"Something else you forgot to mention," Foaly comments.

That was my last backup. Mulch is my only hope now.

"It slipped my mind," I say, and I notice with annoyance that my voice is no longer as strong and sure as it was before.

"That's it, I suppose. There's nothing else."

I return to my chair and fold my arms across my chest. "And if I say yes, you'll believe me, I suppose."

Root laughs so hard the screen looked as if it will shake off its stand. "Oh yes, Artemis. We trust you completely. How could we not after all you've put the People through? If you don't mind, we'd like to ask you a few questions under the _mesmer_, and this time you won't be wearing sunglasses."

If I don't mind? What if I _do_ mind?

"Captain Short," barks Root. "You know what to do."

Holly removes her helmet and turns to me, rubbing the tips of her ears. "I'm going to _mesmerize_ you and ask you a few questions. It's not the first time you've been under, so you know that the procedure is not painful. I advise you to relax. If you try to resist, it could cause memory loss or even brain damage."

More memory loss than I'm _already_ going to have?

Focus. This is my last chance to get through to Root. "Wait a moment," I say, holding up a hand, "Am I right in thinking that when I wake up, this will all be over?"

Holly smiles. "Yes, Artemis. This is goodbye, for the last time."

Fear and doubt, coupled with a sense of impending loss, burn in my chest. It's not so much the fear of the memory loss as it is the fear of losing all my memories of Holly and Foaly, and even Root. Going back to what I was before. "Well, then, I have a few things to say."

Root leaned back in his chair on the screen. "One minute, Fowl. Then nighty-night."

All right. It won't be hard to make this genuine, because it is, but I have to make then _understand_. "Very well," I say, and take a deep breath. "First, thank you. I have my family and friends around me thanks to the People. I wish I didn't have to forget that."

Holly lays a hand on my shoulder. "It's better this way, Artemis. Believe me."

I look at her in particular as I speak my next piece. "And second, I want you all to think back to the first time you met me. Remember that night?"

I can see Holly shudder, and the other fairies fall into a thoughtful silence.

This is it. _Please_... "If you take away the memories and influences of the people, I might become that person again. Is that what you really want?"

That throws them all. I can see it. But they have to understand that I have grown so much, changed so much, since I met them. I've learned that gold does not automatically mean happiness. My father has changed, perhaps due to their influence. I like what my father has become, but I realize that before I met Holly, I would have scorned his new ideas as a coward's way; hanging back, afraid to take the real risks for the only things that was really important—gold. I wouldn't have grown so much closer to the Butlers. I had no friends or family before. And now I finally have both close friends and a real family, and the Artemis I was before wouldn't have appreciated that.

The People can't take this away from me.

I don't want to be that Artemis anymore.

Holly turns to her commanding officer. "Is it possible? Artemis has come a long way. Do we have the right to destroy all that progress?"

"She's right," Foaly pipes up. "I never thought I would say this, but I kinda like the new model."

Hope rises in my chest.

Root opens another window in his screen. "The Psych Brotherhood did a probability report for us. They say the chances of a reversion are slim. Fowl will still have the strong positive influences from his family and the Butlers."

The Psych Brotherhood?

Fear overwhelms the hope, threatening to overtake reason. I studied some of their works when I hacked into Foaly's systems.

I was not impressed. If they're the ones deciding whether I will revert or not...

Holly says out loud what I'm thinking. "The Psych Brotherhood? Argon and his cronies? And when exactly did we start trusting those witch doctors?"

Thank you Holly. It won't work. I know that now. Root has his mind made up and nothing you or I can say will change that.

But thank you for sticking up for me one last time.

My...friend.

Root screams and orders Holly to perform the _mesmer_.

I take a deep breath and square my shoulders. I will not reveal Mulch to her. The lenses will work, and when Mulch gets free of his trial obligations, he will eventually return to me and bring me the disk.

But until then, I will no longer be who I am now.

I...must...focus. I will _not_ fall apart here. I am Artemis Fowl the Second.

I try to smile a little at Holly, who's wearing a carefully blank look. I don't think I succeed.

"Goodbye, Holly," I say softly, "I won't see you again, though I'm sure you will see me."

I will not revert to what I was; I never want to be that cold and selfish again. I am stronger than that. I know I am.

"Just relax, Artemis. Deep breaths."

I can see her open her mouth, take a deep breath, ready her voice for the _mesmer_.

Panic. Complete, utter, and total pani—


	9. Epilogue

Foaly stared at the screen of the computer until it shut itself off. The abrupt change from light to dark snapped him out of his trance.

The centaur moved calmly, automatically around his apartment. He shut down his computer and gathered the things he would need for returning to work the next day. Dinner was simple and eaten without paying any attention to it.

And then Foaly went to bed, setting his alarm for moonrise so he could get to work on time. It wouldn't do to be late his first day back.

He laid there awake until the alarm rang, with only one thought to keep him company.

_Oh, dear Frond—what have we done?_


End file.
